Principal of Punchbowl Boys High School Jihad Dib inspects the uniform of several students in the school corridor. Photo: Sahlan Hayes

This morning, I will pass groups of kids attending my old high school and they will be wearing exactly the same uncomfortable crap I had to wear 20 years ago, which will be exactly the same uncomfortable crap the other 1500 boys in their school will also be wearing today.

School uniforms have always sucked because of this ahhh ... uniformity, but it also means they suck equally. I know mine did. Our long pants were a wool and polyester mix that baked your bottom in summer like it was two spuds in tinfoil.

Our ties were all-polyester, stiff as cardboard and had to be knotted and raised high at all times, top button of our shirts done up as well.

''Fazza'', the formidable Christian brother tasked with keeping track of this stuff, would grab you by the ear if he couldn't see them - that is, if your hair was too long. If you didn't cut it, you'd get detention.

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We grumbled about it, but we knew it could be worse. Some of the girls at the school down the road were made to scrape off their nail polish on the asphalt of the playground while their head mistress watched.

Imagine the headlines if that happened today.

Still, uniforms, for the most part, remain uniforms. You might be singled out by a teacher for your sneakers or pink hair but a quick glance around the classroom or bus will reassure you there's nobody else with pink hair or wearing sneakers.

Two recent cases in Sydney and Perth, where students were sent home for having dyed hair, made we wonder if teachers take bets on which parents will try to be Nelson Mandela or Erin Brokovich by taking a stand against the oppressive dress and grooming regulations of their kid's school.

"My baby should be able to express themselves!" "It's a violation of his human rights!"

Next they'll be picketing McDonald's over the consistency of their french fries - that the cut of the potatoes should more fully represent the "range of viewpoints in the community".

I guess when there's no disease, warfare or poverty to worry about, people move onto the next big threat ... the sexism of hemline regulations at girls schools run by nuns.

I wish I'd thought of that angle when Fazza sent me home for a hair cut every six months.

"I'm exploring my feminine side, brother."

I would have explored it on Saturday detention for a month if I'd tried that line, and my mum and dad would have laughed heartily, not threatened to take me out of school.

They understood I was not going to become a better student or citizen because I abstained from pink hair or wore my tie high.

They did know, however, it would help me adopt the servile attitude towards authority that would aid me in the workplace in later life.